


It's Always Storming in Gotham

by orphan_account



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Be gentle, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Sophie?, Top Joker (DCU), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, also I wrote this in the midst of coming to terms with the fact that I might wanna fuck a clown so, and forgot to give it to them, and lightly stalks u for a bit, basically Arthur lives in ur building, carnival is hot this is my hill, go werewolf, idk - Freeform, like ur basically Sofie but ..not, so gal if ur out there, this ones for u, ummmm I wrote this for a secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You saw him for the first time in an elevator. Again out of the corner of your eye, suddenly everywhere. No, that couldn't be right, he couldn't be following you. But somehow, somewhere, didn't you want him to be?
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	It's Always Storming in Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I wrote this at first for a secret Santa during my denial phase. Basically you're in Sophie's position, but slightly different. Kind of has a bit of backstory that I had in mind when I wrote it, so I'm sorry if it seems kind of nonsensical in places!!
> 
> You meet Arthur once, he follows you, dot dot dot. Y'all get it. 
> 
> Also Carnival was my first love, and I'd die for him. The hair is everything.

You hated this building. You always have. The streets seem to cry at night, the walls wailing, illuminated by the constant flares of sirens. It reeked of mildew and cigarettes, left alone in the hollowed depths of Gotham to rot. You’ve been living in this building for years, long before the Wayne name appeared on anyone’s lips. Before that tape of Mayor Hill played on the radio, those words like a song, over and over again. _Like a goddamn plague on this city…_

Before you heard the scream of the subway, and that image…

But it was cheap here. It was enough. A long bus ride into the city, and those damn steps. Those goddamn _steps_. It was enough to drive anyone mad, day after day. Not to mention that stench; the garbage of millions of people flooding the streets, the scent of poison in the air.

You stood staring at the elevator doors, listening to the sound as it stopped from floor to floor, the bag of groceries weighing down on your wrist. You began to count them as it creaked down. _Eight. Seven. Six._

The door to the building creaked open, and for a moment you could smell the bitter copper of rainfall. It was always storming in Gotham, as if a reflection of the darkness swarming within it. The filth of the city.

_Five. Four. Three._

A drenched figure walked into the lobby. To say he was scrawny would be putting it mildly. Even in the dark you could see the shadows of his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes. You’ve seen him around, a few times, you lived on the same floor. He had a habit of moving in silence. The footsteps of someone used to being unnoticed. You watched him without meaning to, your eyes drawn to his skulking figure. He had a magnetic draw to him, somehow. There was something… _curious_ about him. You knew he and his mother had been living here long before you arrived, but you’ve never seen her. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder what the woman looked like. Couldn’t help but wonder if she was even still alive. To see if she had those same eyes.

God, what was his name? It had slipped from your mind. Andrew? Artie?

He moved the way you did. Head down, eyes glued to his feet. He moved to his mailbox, opened it, nothing. There seldom ever was.

_Two. One._

The elevator door chimed, and you glanced quickly away from him as his head shot up at the sound. You shoved yourself in and pressed down hard on your floor’s button until it finally lit up.

“Please hold it!” The man’s voice echoed through the empty lobby, cracking slightly from the strain. As the doors began to close, you quickly moved—your groceries slipping down your wrist, digging into your skin—and held down the hold button until he rushed in, immediately pressing himself against the corner. He stood tall, at least ten inches above you, but he ducked his head against his chest and stared down. In his hands, he clutched a prescription so tightly did his knuckles turn white. You could see the outline of at least a handful of pill bottles. Four or five at the very least.

Catching yourself, you quickly averted your gaze before you thought he could see. It was rude to stare. Your mother taught you that.

“Thanks,” he murmured. You could feel his eyes on you, studying you with growing curiosity, or was it interest? You couldn’t help but glance once more over at him, watching the beads of rainwater drip down from his hair, running down his cheek.

“You must be freezing,”

His eyes fell to the elevator floor. “Not really,” his lips twitched in a half smile, his voice softened. Nearly silent. He had the voice of a poet, each word like a breath. “I’m pretty used to it.”

You nodded, letting silence nestle in between the two of you as you watched the numbers climb up. 

“These things take longer and longer every day,” you muttered, not even sure you had said the words at all.

There was quiet for a moment, a heartbeat, and then you heard him _laughing_. It started out softly, a fit of suppressed giggles. You looked over at him, smiling, happy for a moment that you made him laugh before you saw his face. He had buried it into the crook of his elbow, his cheeks growing into a burning scarlet as the pain seemed to rip through him.

The elevator rang, and the door opened, but neither of you moved. His knees began to buckle as the laughing grew louder and louder, intoxicating his entire body.

“Are you okay?” You rushed towards him as he fell against the wall, shaking his head as the laughing turned nearly manic. Fuck, what was his name? His eyes were squeezed tight, eyebrows furrowed, and you could see the veins by his temple, jutting from beneath his skin. The pain was searing him, and you could see the glitter of tears beginning to swell beneath his eyes, snot beneath his nose.

His legs crumbled beneath him, and he fell into himself as his laughter began to heighten into a piercing crescendo. Your heart beat quickly in your chest as you dropped your groceries on the ground and crouched before him, planting your hands on his knees. If he noticed, he didn’t react, his hands clutching desperately now at his throat.

“Arthur,” you said as suddenly as the name had appeared in your mind. His head shot up in surprise, eyes wide, and for a moment—just a moment—the laughter stopped. “Arthur, right?” He nodded, and you could see his jaw tighten as he fought against swelling laughter. You smiled at him, at his wide-eyed stare. So shocked that his name had fallen from your lips. So shocked that anyone had bothered to remember it. “It’s okay, Arthur.” 

A giggle slipped from him—his eyes pleading for it to end—once, twice. Then, nothing. He let out a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the colour slowly fading from his face.

“No, no. Don’t. It’s okay. My um, my mother had it too. The laughing,” you hoped he wouldn’t ask any more about it. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable discussion, especially the ending. But his eyes held you for a moment, captivated you. They were almost eclipsed by those dark eyebrows of his, and then suddenly in his eyes you saw it. A glimpse of something. Something, _dark._

“Oh,”

The elevator began to screech a final warning as the doors began to force themselves closed, and suddenly you’re all too aware of the fact that your hands are still cupped over his knees. God, he was skeletal. Even through his fabric you could feel the bones beneath your touch.

His eyes finally fell from yours, staring instead at your hands. Your hands on _him._

“Sorry,” you said. Fire burned beneath your cheeks as you moved your hands off of him. You stood up and reached for your groceries as he slowly rose to his feet, shaking slightly from the sudden movement. “Um. Are you going to be alright?”

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” You nodded, and walked out of the elevator, him trailing slowly behind you. You turned right down the hallway—him left. You walked on to your door, trying not to think about the way you felt when his eyes met yours. About the way they held yours. The glimmer of the darkness beneath. You wished it had scared you the way you knew it should have. That it should have sent a chill down your spine and an urge to run as far and as fast from this decrepit building as you could. But it didn’t, and that was the problem. Your heart had caught in that moment, your breathing had sharpened, and your mind had wandered.

Your hand fumbled in your jacket pocket, searching for the keys. You pulled them out and began to struggle with the lock, it was always jammed, and you swore it would just be _one bad day_ from locking you out completely.

“Hey,” you turned from your door to see Arthur, standing now still in the middle of the hallway, bathed in the green glow of the apartment lights. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You nodded, frozen for a moment. You could feel a smile tugging at your lips, and he did the same. He looked different when he smiled. Younger. There was a glow in his face, the kind seen on Christmas morning or over the first cup of coffee of a cold day. It was a look of _wonder._

“How’d you remember that?” You asked, astonishment creeping into your voice.

His eyes glanced away from you for a moment, thinking about his answer, before he looked back at you. “I remember _you,_ ” he said, the slightest hint of confidence in his voice. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

_Huh._ “Goodnight,” you paused, “Arthur.”

You tried to pretend you didn’t notice him watching you as you ducked away into your apartment. You stashed away your groceries as quickly as you possibly could, eagerness disabling you. You tried to pretend it wasn’t because of him—because of those eyes, that _glimmer_ —that arousal pooled between your legs. Tried to pretend you weren’t imaging the touch of his fingers in place of yours, grazing gently at your thighs, while your hands clutched desperately at his curls.

You saw Arthur a few times after that throughout the week. Leaving his apartment, checking the mailbox, smoking outside the building with a cigarette dangling elegantly between his fingers. It was strange, you supposed, that you hadn’t seen or spoken to him since before you could remember, to seeing him nearly everywhere.

You could have sworn that you saw him on your way to work, lurking in the shadows of Wayne Tower. But that couldn’t have been real. You were only imaging things again. Yet, that hooded figure hanging back, smoke trailing from their lips, looked all too familiar. Part of you, perhaps that same part that felt drawn to Arthur’s darkness, wanted to turn around and confront the shadow. But this was Gotham city, and you knew better than that. You would have to wait.

You walked to the bus stop alone, trying hard to push the image of the shadow following you from your mind. You ignored that they got onto your bus, sitting a few rows back from yours. You could feel their eyes on the back of your neck, could practically hear their heavy breathing.

The bus rolled to a stop and you practically jumped off. You began to walk to the apartment, your legs moving faster than your hammering heart.

The night began to spread through the city as you carried yourself up the dreaded steps. _Step after step._ The wind was so cold it felt like fire on your skin as you climbed, and you could feel the first heavy drops of rainfall.

Nearly home.

The figure was still behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know that, you could hear their footfalls trying to keep up with yours. Your heart was drumming at this point. Louder and louder, heavier than a rock. You reached your hand into your coat pocket, fumbling for your keys as you walked into your building. Why were they still following you?

_Fuck it._ You ignored the elevator and pressed open the door leading to the staircase, making sure the figure saw you and waited. It only took a moment before the door swung open, and you were face to face with him.

With those eyes.

“Arthur,” you breathed, shocked somehow that you were right about him.

His eyes were wide, curls of wet hair dripping down his forehead.

There were a million questions in your mind as you stared at each other. He looked like a child caught, and his features seemed small, suddenly. The fact that he towered over you didn’t matter; you held the power here.

You stood close to one another, barely a foot apart. You could hear his breathing, rapid and sharp. Panicked. His eyes darted back and forth, studying you, your expressions. You thought he would begin to laugh—you knew they could be easily triggered in situations like these—but he only looked at you. His fingers fidgeted with his shirt, tugging at the hem. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he even looked _scared._

“Shit,” you said, and suddenly it all came crashing. You hadn’t realized how terrified you had been until now. Sweat lined your palms, and your heart was slowing to a rhythmic beat. “ _God_ Arthur, you scared me. You really scared me, you can’t—you can’t do that,”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just, please. Please don’t do that again, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I won’t,”

Before you had time to say anything else, he began to sprint up the staircase, moving faster than you would think capable. For a second you debated on following him, chasing after him, but you didn’t. You didn’t move at all. A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding fell from your lips. _What a fucking day._

You dreamt about him again that night. Dreamt of what his tongue would feel like on your skin, the press of his lips against your neck, your chest, down and down until his breath warmed your thighs. You dreamt of what it would feel like to be held down by him, his hands clasping your wrists as he entered you, slowly, achingly so.

God, how painful it was to imagine just being loved by him. There was something familiar about him that you couldn’t quite recognize. The pain that had always been yours, the way it felt, the emotions, the heaviness of the world…you could see it all in him too.

You woke up with a puddle in your panties. Again. God, what was it about this guy that made you feel like a teenager experiencing her first crush? Something fleeting but so obsessively passionate. You felt not just attracted to him but _fascinated_ by him. Captivated, even. You hadn’t met anyone like him before. Someone so lost. Someone like you.

You turned on the television and began getting dressed to another repeat of the _Murray Franklin Show_. This time his guest was an older woman, a lawyer or something. Who knew anymore? Who cared? Everyone knew he didn’t give a shit about his guests; he was always waiting for the perfect one. That perfect star who’d grant him the Pulitzer he somehow felt he deserved.

“Well there ya have it folks, next time ya wanna complain about the damn trash try and imagine what it’s like to work for it,” he mused, in love with the sound of his own voice.

_Cue the canned laughter._

“Thanks again for coming, sweetheart. Always a pleasure. That’s our show for tonight so, good night! And always—”

“—remember, _that’s life_ ,” you said along with him. How you hated this place.

You left the building, watching for any sign of _him_. Painfully aware of your surroundings, you were nearly paranoid by now. And yet. Didn’t you want him to see you? Follow you? To pin you up against a wall the first moment you were alone?

You only first talked to this guy two days ago and somehow you had a hard time thinking about anything else in your life.

Down the steps. On the bus you already knew would be standing room only, stared down by some old guy who made the hairs on your arms rise. You walked to Wayne Tower, alone, cold, and wet. _It was always storming in Gotham._ You got yelled at again by your boss, shocking. The guy was a misogynist and stopped hiding it the third time charges against him somehow vanished. He was a staple of his kind: some young, pompous Wall Street type. The rich seldom suffered real consequence, you supposed.

Then it was over. Out the building, to the bus stop. The same routine over and over again. Off the bus. Up the steps. Up and up and up. Into the lobby, no mail, nobody else watching you. Did you miss the feeling of being watched? Of being studied? No. No, that wasn’t even worth the thought.

You got into your apartment, throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter before you shrugged out of your soaked jacket. Mindlessly, you walked into the living room and turned on the T.V, your eyes watching the screen while a million thoughts circled your head.

You pulled off your pants, your blazer, and rolled up the sleeves of your blouse. The temperatures in these buildings fluctuated so often it was impossible to ever get comfortable. Scalding one minute, freezing the next.

The sounds of the T.V filled your apartment, as moonlight began to spill through your window, and the pattering of rain echoed on the glass.

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep until the sound of knocking woke you. No, not just woke you: it jolted you awake. The knock was demanding, the person on the other side pounded _relentlessly._

_What the fuck?_

With every passing second the knock grew louder, faster. Whoever it was began to hammer now. Your heart caught in your throat as you approached the door, forgetting what you were dressed in. The door seemed to get further with every step you took, every knock echoed by your heartbeat. _Thud, thud, thud._

You pressed yourself against the door, trying to be as quiet as you could. You tried to look out the peephole, but it sat at least an inch above you. _Christ, who designed these?_

It stilled for a moment, and you let out a shaky breath. You pressed your ear against the wood, listening for something. Anything. Ever so quietly, you could hear ragged breathing. Slow, steady. You tried to press yourself against it closer, trying to hear as much as you could.

Suddenly the knocking intensified and you clasped your hand over your mouth, trying desperately not to scream as the door pounded against you.

Your hand reached for the lock, sending a silent prayer as you opened the door.

As you opened it, a gasp fell from your lips. “Arthur,” you breathed. At least, you thought it was. He stood taller than he always seemed. Straighter, now. His hair haloed his head in tangled curls, and his face…why was he wearing clown makeup? A painted smile crossed over his lips, and the dark triangles beneath his eyes made them seem nearly black. His shirt was unbuttoned, and up the side of it—was that blood?

You didn’t even have a moment to question him, before he closed the distance between you two, ducking his head down to crash his lips to yours. His hands cupped your face, fingers parted over your ears, and his thumb just on the edge of your mouth as he pressed into you. You stumbled back from the sudden force, all the while trying to slam the door shut as his arm wrapped tightly around you, holding you to him. Making you feel him, or rather, how _good_ you made him feel. You tried to grab a hold of him, anything to balance you, clutching at him. His hair, his clothes. You parted your lips, drunk off of his touch, and he didn’t miss a beat before sliding his tongue into your mouth. He kissed you as if with his last breath. He needed you.

He forced you further into the apartment, until you practically fell over your couch.

“Wait, wait,” you pleaded, trying to catch your breath. Your ass pressed against the back of the couch, and you were one push away from falling onto the cushions. It was clear he wasn’t in the mood to wait, and he ducked down between your legs, his lips pressing up against the insides of your thigh, closer and closer, leaving the faintest blushes of red in his wake. “Arthur,” your hands grasped at his hair, and you used your grip to pull him up to look at you. “What happened?”

When he looked at you, it wasn’t with the eyes of the man you helped alone in an elevator. Flustered and terrified. It was something else, something new. It was the darkness you had seen, only now it seemed to encompass him.

“Am I scaring you again, Y/N?” He growled lowly. He ducked his head to your neck, and you tried not to whimper at the sudden feeling of his lips kissing, sucking at your neck. You had to bite down on your lip as you felt the light graze of his teeth against your skin. He stood between your legs now, forcing them apart, and you could feel how hard he was. His fingers traced along your collarbone, slowly, gently, making their way to your neck where they squeezed, just slightly as he nibbled at your skin.

“No,” you said, trying desperately to keep your voice steady.

“Well,” he mused, his lips on your ear now, “maybe I should try harder.” You thought you heard him shudder for a moment from laughter, but the sound quickly subsided. You hadn’t realized his hands had dropped to your shirt, until they were tearing with a force that left you breathless. You could hear the sudden sound of the buttons flying onto the wooden floorboards. You sucked between your teeth at the sudden exposure, your bra now on full display to him. His fingers traced along the cups, and you wondered if he could feel your heart hammering against his touch.

“Get up,” he ordered suddenly, and you quickly obeyed. “Bedroom,” He reached down for your hand and practically dragged you to where your door had been left ajar. Your bed sat in the middle of the room, and he wasted no time pushing you onto it.

Your legs dangled over the side, your back flat against the mattress. “I understand it now,” he muttered, falling to his knees on the floor, positioning himself between your legs. A hand wrapped around either ankle as he began to spread your legs for himself, hunger in his eyes. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him.

“What?” There was the slightest hint of a shudder in your breath, and Arthur heard it. A smile was planted on his lips, even beneath the makeup. It began to grow, bigger and bigger. His eyes drank yours in, and all you could feel was the growing slickness between your legs.

“I think you wanted me to follow you, didn’t you? You wanted me to follow you up to your apartment, so I could _fuck_ you. Didn’t you?” His voice changed from a soft whisper to a growl, and it was enough to make anyone writhe.

“ _Didn’t you?_ ” Instinctively, you jumped at the sudden bark in his voice, and tried to move backwards from him, but his hands held you firm in place, his grip white-hot.

“Yes!” You admitted, your heart racing.

“Tell me,”

“I wanted you to follow me. So, you would _fuck me_. Are you happy! I said I wanted you to fuck—” Arthur’s lips crashed suddenly onto yours, silencing you with a force that could only be brought on from deeply rooted need.

“Watch me taste you,” he whispered against your mouth, and it took you everything not to cry out as he repositioned himself. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, sliding them slowly down your legs, eyes flashing up at yours when he noticed how utterly _soaked,_ they were. He tossed them aside into some corner of the room, before running a single finger up your slit, relishing in how you coated him. “Oh kitten,” he mused with a grin, before he slowly dived into you. His nose buried into your folds, and you could see the remnants of white face paint colouring between your legs. His eyes burned into yours as he lapped hungrily at you. You grabbed a handful of his hair, squirming beneath his touch. A whimper broke somewhere from within you, and he moaned into you.

He dropped his hold of your ankles, and immediately your legs were wrapped over him, pulling him into you. Watching you tremble beneath his touch; he slipped a finger into you. One, then two. Slowly.

“ _Arthur_ ,” you moaned as he curled them into a ‘come here’ motion before moving them to the now thrusting of your hips, all the while his tongue swirled and sucked at your clit. The feeling was too intense, and your breaths became quick and shallow. “I’m close,”

He stopped. Completely. Just looked at you from between your thighs, white face paint smudged. “Tell me what you need,”

You would have laughed if you weren’t so flustered. “Fuck, Arthur, I need _you_.”

“More,”

“I need you to fuck me, please Arthur, please. I need you, god, I need you so _bad_ ,”

He leaned over you now, kissing up your chest while his fingers fiddled with the clasp of your bra. “Is that so?” he smirked, only paying half attention as the clasp parted and he tugged it off. He ran his thumb over your hard nipple, circling it, teasing it, grinning at the way he could make you so easily quiver.

He stood up, hands reaching for his belt, unbuckling it slowly.

You watched him impatiently, body flushed with a growing warmth. “Did you hear me, Arthur? I said I need you to fuck me. Christ, Arthur, please.”

“Do you want me?” He pulled his belt off, and wrapped it over your wrists, tying them together above your head. He liked the way you looked like that, helpless and bound. Powerless to anything he wanted to do to you.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly.

“Hmm, do you?” His fingers pulled down the fly of his pants, and his hard cock sprung free, as he aligned it with your opening. He teased the tip up and down your slit, watching you squirm, watching your breasts rise with every shuddering breath.

“ _Yes,_ ”

“Good,” and in an instant, he plunged into you. You yelped, your head falling back at the sudden motion. He filled you completely, _god_ , did he fill you. If you hadn’t been so wet you doubt he could have entered you so smoothly, but he did and it felt so _good_.

He watched you, watched the way your head fell back, and your body arched up to meet him. He pushed in, until he couldn’t anymore. Only then when your face did change, when your eyes squeezed tight and your breathing hitched, did he pull out completely, only to slam back into you.

“A-Arthur!” You screamed out, arching up, and as you did, he clutched onto you, holding you to him. His head rested in the nook of your neck as he began to thrust into you. You hissed as he found his pace, moving into you hard and painfully slowly. Your walls clenched around him, and you tried not to cry out when his teeth grazed against your neck.

You let out a moan in his ear and could practically hear his grin, before you hooked your legs around him, desperate to drive him deeper into you. You looped your tied wrists behind his neck and clutched to him. Taking the hint, he began to fuck himself into you. Harder. Faster. With every time that he buried himself to the hilt inside of you, did a gasp force from your lips. Music to his ears.

“Come on angel, why don’t you be a good girl and cum on daddy,” he breathed in your ear. You loved how different he had become. Dominating. You wanted to be used by him, fucked by him. You wanted to be his good little toy. His good girl.

As tightly as you held him, he held you tighter. One arm wrapped completely around you, and the other he used to toy with your clit, rubbing it in time to his thrusts, causing you to sing his name over and over.

“ _Faster_ ,” you wined, pleading with him.

“I’ll do what I want to with you,” his hands forcefully grabbed for you, practically tossing you onto your stomach. His hand tangled in your hair, and he held you pressed into the bedspread.

Teasing him, you rose your ass up to meet him, grinding against him until he let out a soft groan. If his voice was a poet’s, then his sound was a song.

His hand slapped against your ass, hard. Then again. Harder and harder and harder. You wanted to scream out. He kept going, and you bit down on the bedding to muffle your whimpers. Over and over, searing you.

There was a pause—a breath—when he stopped. You didn’t dare to look up, didn’t dare to question him. You could hear the sounds of his clothing dropping in a heap on the floor, and then the sudden weight of him laid over you. He was soft, surprisingly so. His body felt natural against yours. Hand coiled in your hair, he yanked your head back, exposing your neck.

“So pretty for me,” he murmured, and in a blink, he bit down on your neck as he shoved his cock back into you. A scream ripped from you, and immediately he began to fuck you with a force, slamming into you. One hand pulling at your hair, the other clenching your waist as he drove into you. You’d never been so full before, and it felt ecstatic.

“Oh fuck, Arthur,”

“You wanted faster?” You didn’t have time to nod even once before the sudden jolt in his speed caused you to cry out, and your tied hands gripped at the sheets for dear life. He pumped into you furiously, and you thought if he went any faster, you’d split in half.

Your legs began to shake, and you could feel the bruises forming beneath his iron grip. With every pound into you, a gasp broke from your lips, and you bucked into his thrusts. Hot tears began to brim your eyes, and you could hear his breath hitching behind you.

“Oh god, Arthur, I-I’m gonna cum,” you gasped in between his thrusts. His grip on you only tightened at this, driving himself suddenly, angling himself into your tight walls. His hand fell from your waist to your clit, rubbing in time to his rhythm. Desperate, nearly frenzied.

“Good girl, Y/N” he couldn’t hold himself back, and came with a shuddering moan, as he emptied himself into you. That was enough for you, and your body went limp as an orgasm washed you over with him. You collapsed together, shuddering and twitching as your orgasm subsided and you both struggled to collect your breath. You rolled onto your side, and he mirrored you, gently reaching up to remove the belt from your wrists.

“Arthur…” you panted, looking into green as his eyes met yours, “I never…”

His arm was still wrapped around your waist, and he moved his hand to your hair, taking a strand between his fingers. “I know,” he muttered. He looked so heavenly in this moment. The makeup had all but rubbed off (no doubt over your skin), and he was coated in a glowing sheen of sweat, a soft smile on his lips. His eyes were fluttering from exhaustion, and you watched him fall asleep, him still holding you. 

You woke still naked in his arms, the sheets wrapped lazily around the two of you. He was clutching your small frame to him, and you could hear the faint beating of his heart. Steady and smooth. It was a rhythm you think you could love.

Slowly, you moved yourself from him, climbed out of bed. You were amazed he had stayed at all, amazed how quickly his act had fallen. It was as if there were two parts of him. The kind, quiet, Arthur whose touch you had grazed in an elevator one rainy day; and the other part. The darker side of him that spanked you hard and fucked you harder. The side that came to you drenched in rain, paint, and blood. Arthur had slept the night cuddled to you, but you weren’t sure where the other part of him had gone.

Arthur whimpered as he stirred awake and reached out for your arm. “Please stay,” he whispered, voice hazed by the morning.

You glanced at him then, so beautiful did he look. His eyes were narrowed in the morning light, and his lips were twitched up in a wanting smile. “I have to work, Arthur.”

You attempted to move again, but he held you back. “Your boss won’t be in today,” his throat trembled slightly as a sign of another attack, but before it could heighten, he pulled you into him suddenly, and kissed you.

You pulled from him for a moment. “How do you—”

You stopped talking as you looked at him, at the crease in his eyebrows, and his aching smile. Slowly, you laid back down beside him, gazing at one another. His hands moved to cup your face, and his eyes searched yours. “Please,” he said, “don’t leave. Just stay.”

“Okay,” you would stay for now. You would stay for as long as he wanted you to. As long as he needed you to. Maybe, you thought, there were things in this building worth living for.

Outside, it was storming.

It was always storming in Gotham.


End file.
